


Classic Rock Never Felt So Good

by KindaCrazy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-10
Updated: 2014-12-10
Packaged: 2018-02-28 21:07:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2747078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KindaCrazy/pseuds/KindaCrazy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Winchester boys have probably never been so thankful to a classic rock song before, but, there's a first for everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Classic Rock Never Felt So Good

Classic Rock Never Felt So Good

 

“ _And I guess every rose has its’ thorn, just like every night has its’ dawn, just like every cowboy sings a sad, sad song_ ,” Dean Winchester sings loudly, drumming his hands on the steering wheel of his Baby.  
“Dean, it’s almost Christmas, shouldn’t stations be playing Christmas carols? Not… Poison?” Sam groans, laughing lightly.  
“Just because Christmas is coming up doesn’t mean I can’t listen to a little classic rock too,” Dean shoots back, not even bothering to change the radio station, as much as Sam wants him to. “Plus, you’re like the friggin’ Grinch— You don’t even like Christmas.”  
“That’s not entirely true. I like Christmas just fine. I just don’t have the fondest of memories from any of our childhood Christmases.”  
Well, I can give you some pretty damn good memories if you’ll let me, Dean added silently.  
This is new to both Winchesters. About six and a half months ago, Dean and Sam had had their first experience as anything other than brothers. It was just those damn nightmares that made Dean feel bad for his poor brother. He’d kissed him that night. And well, needless to say, kissin’ ain’t all they’ve done since.  
Dean shrugs and turns his attention back to the road, focusing on how much longer he needs to be behind the wheel.  
“Let’s go to Las Vegas,” Dean blurts out, speeding up slightly as he drives down Nevada Highway 95.  
“What?” Sam asks, slightly confused, but laughing all the same.  
“Vegas, c’mon. We need a break from hunting anyway, and it’s the Christmas season! What better way to celebrate?”  
“What, with cheap drinks and strippers? Typical, Dean,” Sam scoffs, trying to ignore the dull ache in his chest— or rather, what he knows is the cause, and it’s not heartburn.  
Dean pauses slightly, throwing his arm across the back of the Impala’s front seat.  
“Sammy, I told you, you’re it for me… Nobody makes me feel like you do,” Dean starts, driving with one hand, playing with Sammy’s long, brown hair with the other. “No, I was thinking more along the lines of cheap whiskey from a run-down liquor store and a king-sized bed to spend the better part of the night in.”  
Sam tosses his head back, laughing the kind of deep, belly laugh that Dean loves before turning back to his brother.  
“Sounds like a plan.”  
“ _I won’t take no prisoners, won’t spare no lives. Nobody’s puttin’ up a fight. I got my bell, I’m gonna take you to Hell_!” Dean continues on singing, enjoying his classic rock over Sam’s Christmas carols.  
“You sure do love your AC/DC, don’t you?”  
“Not as much as I love my Sammy— Or Joan Jett,” Dean replies easily, excited when the aforementioned woman’s voice begins to play through the car speakers.  
Sam smirks to himself when he realizes what song is playing— instinctively looking over at his brother, hoping he didn’t catch it.  
“ _We’ve been here too long, tryin’a get along, pretending that you oh-so shy_ ,” Dean begins, dancing in his seat, eliciting a slight laugh from the younger Winchester.  
Sam holds off his plan until the chorus comes up, waiting until Dean starts singing again to put it to use.  
“ _Do you wanna touch? Do you wanna touch? Do you wanna touch me there, where_?”  
Sam slides himself closer to his older brother, turning to face him before placing a hand onto Dean’s thigh, gently tracing circles with his pointer finger.  
“Whatcha doin’, Sammy?” Dean asks, laughing lightly, trying to ignore the rush of blood he can feel going south bound.  
“Nothin’. Just keep singin’, Dean,” Sam instructs, moving his hand up a little further to rest over Dean’s jeans zipper.  
“Yes, sir,” Dean salutes jokingly before resuming his singing, “ _Do you wanna touch? Do you wanna touch? Do you wanna touch me there, where? Yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah_!”  
Silently, Sam pops open the button and slides down the zipper on Dean’s jeans, moving the fabric aside, revealing a generous sized bulge in the cotton fabric of his boxers.  
Dean groans over the music when he feels Sammy’s hand slip in between his boxers and his jeans and rub slightly.  
“Keep singing, Dean. Focus on the road,” Sam orders, rubbing his thumb over Dean’s cotton-covered head.  
“ _Every girl an’ boy, needs a little joy. All you do is sit and stare_ —fuck,” Dean swears, cutting himself off.  
Sam continues driving Dean crazy, this time taking over the singing of the song, as it doesn't seem Dean can focus on more than just driving at the moment— well, apart from what exactly Sam is doing in his pants, that is.  
“ _Beggin’ on my knees, baby, won’t you please? Run your fingers through my hair_!” to punctuate Sam’s statement, Dean fists a handful of Sam’s hair, pulling hard.  
Sam laughs and decides to give Dean exactly what he’s practically been begging for. Sam pushes past the waistband of Dean’s boxers and is met with a familiar warm hardness.  
“ _My, my, my, whiskey and rye. Don’t it make you feel so fine_?” Sam starts out slow, moving his hand up and down on Dean before speeding up slightly as he continues singing, “ _Right or wrong, don’t it turn you on_?”  
“God, yes, Sammy,” Dean moans his eyes fluttering closed for a split second before he remembers he’s supposed to be driving.  
Sam fists Dean faster, feeling his big brother’s shaft begin to become wet with pre-come, making the action that much easier— and pleasurable for Dean.  
“Sammy, Sammy, shit, baby boy,” Dean pants, bucking his hips upward to gain more friction. “Want you so bad, Sammy.”  
“Fuck, Dean,” Sam groans, feeling the pressure of his own lust beginning to consume him— especially given the sounds Dean is making.  
Sam’s movements on Dean’s lower anatomy become hard and erratic, but it still gets the job done.  
“Sammy— Sammy, I’m… I’m gonna—!” Dean shouts before a sticky white stream erupts from between Sam’s fingers.  
“God, Dean, I love you,” Sam grunts, pulling his hand away from his brother to palm himself through his jeans.  
“Love you too, Sammy,” Dean says back, casting a sideways glance at his brother, biting is lip when he sees said brother pleasuring himself, his own name flowing from Sam’s mouth every few seconds.  
Dean all but ignores the cooling mess on his stomach in favor of keeping one eye on his brother and the other on the road.  
Dean reaches across his brother and turns down the blaring music to make it easier for him to hear the addictive sounds coming from his right.  
Dean decides that maybe it might be easier for Sam if he gave him a slight hand— not literally, unfortunately.  
Dean reaches for Sam’s free hand to pull him even closer, letting him rest his head on his shoulder while his other hand works impossibly fast down inside his jeans.  
“You gonna come, Sammy?” Dean asks, his voice husky and his chest still heaving from his own orgasm not long ago.  
“I’m close, Dean… So close,” Sam grunts, his eyes closing tightly as his forehead presses into Dean’s shoulder. “Shit, Dean, how far are we from Vegas?”  
“We’ll be there soon, Sammy. But damnit, Sammy, fuck if you’re not making me hard again,” Dean frowns, feeling his dick stir in his pants again.  
Sam’s moans fill the car as well as the smell of sex and sweat, making both Winchesters’ heads spin.  
“C’mon, Sammy, come for me,” Dean almost orders, holding tight to his brother’s free hand and the steering wheel. “Come for me, Sammy. Come for me.”  
And just like that, Dean feels his brother’s body stiffen before he comes completely undone, painting the seats of the Impala— along with Dean’s jeans—white.  
“Yahtzee,” Dean laughs, happy to have said three words and made his brother come.  
Once Sam comes down from his high, he looks up at his older brother, laughing nervously, expecting a lecture about dirtying his Baby.  
“Well, that’s a good way to kill time, ain’t it, Sammy? We’re almost to Vegas!”  
“Sure, sure, Dean. I’m just tired now. I’m going to sleep as soon as we get to a motel,” Sam says, breathless as he tries to regain his composure.  
“Oh, no, you’re not. Soon as we get to the motel, you’re sprawling out on that motel bed and I’m gonna fuck you senseless for hours on end,” Dean corrects, both hands holding hard onto the steering wheel.  
“Maybe I wanna fuck you. Am I not allowed?” Sam scoffs, laughing to himself.  
“Not right off the bat. You’re mine for the taking as soon as we get there. But maybe I’ll be generous later on.”  
“You’re so difficult. But fine, if you insist.”  
“Bitch.”  
“Jerk.”


End file.
